


What Once Was Mine

by lokigodofmenace



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Asgard's Healers are the literal best, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki is super hurt but it gets better, Loki-centric, Marvel Universe, No Loki without Sigyn, Protective Thor, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 20:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12540416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokigodofmenace/pseuds/lokigodofmenace
Summary: Odin sent Thor to retrieve the Tesseract not long after Loki's "death". The Chitauri drifted into Asgardian space months later, and Thor found himself embroiled in a war with no purpose. What were these creatures here for? The Tesseract? More? War was familiar; even without a reason it was battle. But then he found something in the bowels of the Chitauri ship. Something that changed everything...





	What Once Was Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I have a million+ AU ideas related to Loki, but this was one that bit very recently me and let me flex my muscles with both Loki, Thor, and a few other characters. It's feels. It's pain. But it gets better so, stick with me if you will and enjoy. ;D

The Chitauri flag-ship was much as Thor had expected. Dark, windowless, and full of winding corridors that were clearly made for a dissimilar species. Now it was filled with the stench of death (though he had detected it before, like a fetid stink in the background) and strewn with the bodies of its former occupants. 

He could hear Einherjar and his friends shifting behind him, and Volstagg kicked one of the corpses with disdain.

The Chitauri ships had moved into Asgardian space some five days ago. They had taken the Realm Eternal by some surprise, and their suicidal assault on the city had left much destroyed and more than Thor would like dead.

But when the Aesir had marshaled the Chitauri did not last long. The guns on their ships tore through the Aesir soldiers, but the Realm Eternal’s skiffs landed blow after victorious blow on the flagship, and soon all retorts of crackling purple energy ceased.

Thor had been with the first wave _into_ the immense primary ship, and it had been a long fight in the dark. But in the recessed rooms he had found flickering panels. It was clear they had attempted to sabotage much of their own technology when they realized they were facing their end, but he had made sense of some of the uncorrupted data and found basic schematics and holographic images of the Tesseract.

The _Tesseract_.

The realization had given him some reason, at least, for this attempted invasion, but more questions only cropped up to replace his old ones. Why would this seemingly lesser race come and fall on Asgardian swords to get the Tesseract? It was a gem of unfathomable power, to be sure, but had they no leader?

Thor was a warrior and all his senses told him there was something _more_ to this. It settled in nicely with the over-arching echo of dread in his chest.

“Here Thor.” Fandral’s voice called, low and tight as if he too was affected by the stagnant, unrelenting darkness. The blonde was standing before a damaged, hissing panel. A map of corridors shimmered before them in white lines, though it was like no map Thor had ever seen.

Fandral indicated a hall and one room, somewhat set apart from the others, and shown to be wide and near the center of the ship, “We have not been here.”

Volstagg snorted behind him, “How can you _tell_ in this maze?”

Thor squinted, “No. Fandral is right. I do not recall that. It is in deeper; away from the other chambers. Perhaps we will find more answers there.”

“Or more enemies.” Hogun chimed in, flat cynicism in his tone. 

“Effusive and cheerful as ever.” Fandral shot back, though the comment held a little less mirth than normal. The place was wearing on his nerves.

Thor only glared and lead the way forward. His patience was as thin as theirs. It seemed their mission was victory, but somehow he felt like there was _more_ and they had not won. _Maybe this is the key. We might find answers there. ...We must_.

* * *

The feeling of death worsened as they crept deeper. Thor felt like unease had settled like a stone between his ribs. His heart roared in his ears.

Mjolnir broke the lock on the dark gold door and Thor tore it back with a mighty grip.

They advanced as one, weapons drawn and expecting any moment for something to fly at them, but as they stood in the center of a yawning chamber, blackness closing around them with only the faint glow of blinking buttons on barely visible panels breaking it, Thor cursed.

“We need to get out of here.” Fandral hissed, that _feeling_ clinging to him. “There is nothing here.”

“Afraid?” Volstagg goaded. It was not as good-natured as was his customary ribbing.

Fandral gritted his teeth, and opened his mouth to bicker, but Thor hushed them, “Quiet.” He breathed, and held Mjolnir tighter.

There was a noise.

He had not heard it before, but there it was now. A wheeze.

And to Thor’s surprise, it sounded near. Maybe only fifteen away. He brandished his hammer and let out a snarl worthy of a god, “Show yourself, slithering coward. I would have answers and then your head.”

But the testy challenge was met with only a slightly higher, thinner sound.

“...What,” Thor’s brows tugged down, and then Sif shouldered beside him, fishing an orb out of her belt. She shook it, and though its light seemed meager, its warm glow illuminated some of the dark.

It was then Thor saw it.

No, no. Them. It was a live. It shrunk from the light and at first he was ready to think it was another enemy, until it moaned.

“What in the Nine.” He demanded and crept a step forward, Sif following in unison, and again the figure crawled away. 

Sif raised her arm and a gentle glow cast over the form. Thor’s stomach dropped.

The thing was chained; a collar around its neck and shackles about its wrists and ankles showed extensions snaking off into the shadow toward the wall. It was simply bones and skin, and blood and filth, and he saw its flesh had been expertly carved, and between the lines it had been burnt and then pealed. 

It stunk, and he felt nausea swimming around in his gut from the site of this... thing. 

Then he seemed to remember it was alive. It had moved, and he stepped closer. It had curled in on itself and tucked its head as best as the collar would let when Sif had shown the light, but the rise and fall of its chest was perceivable, “Wha.... I. I will not harm you. I... am Thor, prince of Asgard.” He managed, and there was a spasm in the heap, and it shuddered. Clearly his name had the opposite effect, or perhaps it was simply another voice.

“I swear, I will not...”

Sif edged closer with her the light, and Thor caught a glimpse of ragged, greasy, black hair and a sharp jaw-line, and the thing’s eyes opened and green slivers stared past and threw him.

“...Another _shade_.” The half-dead (Norns, Thor wished it was entirely dead) prisoner murmured, and made a sound somewhere between a ‘hm’ and a sob. “How... _droll_.”

It was the last. The eyes and the way its voice dropped and familiarity rung like a bell in Thor’s mind. Suddenly he was back over the edge of the Bifrost, and his fingers were desperately gripping Gungnir. At first he was relieved - he had caught it! - but then it washed over him; Loki was dangling at the edge, just barely holding on. Odin was above them, and Loki stared past him, to their father, almost _begging_ him for acknowledgement. Thor did not know what it meant. In his mind he wondered why Loki was saying these things; why had he thought eradicating Jotunheim would please Odin?

But then Loki was falling. He had watched the hope drain from his face, and desolation replace it, and Thor had screamed his name, because... _Brother! Norns. Why...!_

Mjolnir fell and slammed into the metal floor.

Thor’s throat felt squeezed, and for a moment his tongue was useless.

 _No. No. That is not Loki. It... it cannot be._ A part of him reasoned, but he _knew_ it was. He just _knew_.

Thor lurched forward, and Loki flinched back.

“No, no. _Loki_.”

Loki began to make a sound. It might have been a laugh, “Don’t. Just... _don’t_. I...know this game.” He coughed, and it sounded like he was choking. Thor could not describe how _wrong_ his voice sounded. It should have been smooth and chiding and, ‘You dolt, Thor, stop gaping’. Instead...

“J-just.... snap my neck, and... _be done_. You always kill me.” Loki’s eyes did not focus. They stared, dilated and not present, “Just... do it.”

Thor was paralyzed. Why was Loki asking him to _kill_ him? (His thoughts had an answer for that though, a ‘Fool. Look at him. Wouldn’t you wish for death too?’ followed by a twinge of pride that tried to protest, and was quelled by shame. He had no reference for what it must feel like to have his flesh pealed back, and carved, and to have all of the horrible things done to him that Loki’s body was a witness to.) Why was Loki acting like they had been like this before?

Sif’s breath was hot and tight in his ear, “Thor.” She breathed, “...What is...?”

“Loki.” Thor answered her by speaking to the shaking figure on the stained metal floor.

Loki was struggling for breath, and fighting to claw his way back into the dark, but as Thor watched, Loki’s shackles flickered and a jolt of electricity shocked through the dark and into Loki. Loki crumpled again, twitching.

Thor reared up, Mjolnir coming to his palm, and there was enough light from the energy in his hammer that he could see to where the chains holding Loki connected with the wall. They were no ordinary binding, that much he could tell. But he crushed the links with Uru and they severed from their holdings.

* * *

Loki lay still, hungry for air, but barely able to ease oxygen in and out of his lungs without his chest wracking with pain. He longed for the torturous figments to fade. There were more of them this time - more to rip him apart and crack his bones, and he wanted them just to get it _over_ with.

It was in his mind. A lucid part of him was aware that each time he saw them it was not _real_ , but the pain somehow was, and the first times, with Thor’s hand wrapped around his neck, he had wept at the implication of the brother that he had loved being filled with enough hate to brutally kill him.

But then it happened again. And again. And he tried to avoid, or fight them, or pry Thor’s fingers off, but inevitable he went limp, a vicious whisper of ‘You deserve this’ somewhere in his pysche, amidst the _Makeitstop. Make it stop... NornsNorns._

Loki flinched when Thor’s hand touched his shoulder.

It was coming now...Thor cursing him. Loki had found if he did not speak it was generally faster.

He wheezed when the hands inched him up to a sitting position, and he noted they were.... gentler. Like the first few times. 

He gripped the shade-Thor’s wrists, and would have dug his nails in if he had any, “ _No_.” He hissed. They would not break him by returning to making Thor pretend he cared. It was the same then too. His brother was quiet, almost _normal_ , for a few moments, and then his fist generally cracked something in Loki’s face,

Loki tore at Thor’s arms, “ _Get it... **over** _ with _.”_ He half-growled, half-begged.

* * *

“He...He does not know its you.” Sif reasoned, caught between wanting to just put it - if _it_ was even Loki anymore - out of its misery, and get _out_ of this place. But Thor was not coming.

The God of Thunder was on his knees, supporting Loki with his hands on his little brother’s shoulders, and Loki was prying at him, to try and loosen his grip.

“He does!” Thor bit, his voice harsher than he would have liked, but he was quite unable to contain the mingling of desperation and rage in his gut. He could not focus on the horror. That would not help anyone, “....That is what makes it worse.”

Thor knew he had to get his friends, his soldiers, his _brother_ out of this place. It was beginning to feel like this was the intention all the time. The attack was a farce to lead them here - to show him what they had done to Loki.

If they had wanted to take him away from the fight they had done it remarkably well, but he could not find it in himself to care.

His little brother was _alive_...! Alive...

“Loki, stop.” He insisted, and Loki still stared through him, his yellowed teeth baring, and then Loki lurched forward and Thor realized he was trying to bite him. Loki was too weak for much else.

“Loki!” Thor protested, and shifted, pinning Loki’s slight body down by his arms.

* * *

For a moment, Loki felt a well of panic. He was on his back - he had known the Thor-shade would retaliate; it had been part the reason he struggled -, but he had expected the figment to grow impatient and commence with its usual brutality. Instead it forced him down, and Loki did not have the strength to muster words from lungs squeezed by broken ribs. He whined, and his fingers twitched.

This was when Thor beat him.

But he didn’t...

He didn’t.

Loki stared through Thor with fear slick in his dilated green eyes, but something... something was failing. The desperation and wild madness of a tormented animal was easing, and Loki was fading.

He could not free himself from Thor’s-shade.

He could barely breathe, let alone speak, but he managed a, “Kill me.” from trembling lips.

“...Thor.” Sif grabbed his shoulder, “Thor!”

Thor finally turned his head, his heart numb. He tried to bite down grief.

“He is going into shock.” When Thor did not immediately respond, Sif raised her voice, “He is going to _die_.”


End file.
